


Text Messages Cannot Convey Feelings- Alternate Ending

by Encyclopedianerdia



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Depression, Love, M/M, Protective Sherlock, Suicide, suicide note
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-26
Updated: 2013-05-01
Packaged: 2017-12-09 12:51:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 4,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/774400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Encyclopedianerdia/pseuds/Encyclopedianerdia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All the texts sent after The Fall, the story behind them, and Sherlock's reaction. Alternate ending. Original ending here-<br/>http://archiveofourown.org/works/761704/chapters/1425377</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Where did you go, Sherlock? JW

I'm bored. JW

I miss you. JW

Please come home. JW

I made you some tea. You'll come drink it, won't you? JW

I met someone beautiful today. JW

Their hair smells amazing. JW

Their skin is so pale, it gleams. JW

I really like them, Sherlock. JW

Their hand is so warm. JW

Even you would like them. JW

They're smart, too. Very smart. JW

It doesn't seem right, Sherlock, for my significant other not to meet my best friend. JW

I think I'm going to ask them to marry me. JW

I'm going to pick out a ring tomorrow. JW

They said yes. JW

I want you to be there. JW

I think I understand now. You aren't ever coming back. JW

Goodbye, Sherlock. JW

Not goodbye. Hello again. JW


	2. Chapter 2

This could not be happening.

Sherlock wasn't dead. He couldn't be. No, Sherlock was hiding. He had to be.

Where did you go, Sherlock? JW

John waited. And waited. And waited.

No response came.

*

He tried to carry on normally, he really did. It was just that he didn't know what normal was anymore. Sherlock was his normal, crazy was his normal. This mundane lifestyle could no longer suit him.

I'm bored. JW

That's what Sherlock would say if he were alive. Here, John corrected himself. That's what Sherlock would say if he were here.

I miss you. JW

John knew how Sherlock had always felt, now. Like his brain was too big for his skull. Too many memories, made bittersweet by The Fall, pounded against the inside of his head. Trying to escape.

Please come home. JW

How long had he been sitting in Sherlock's chair, breathing in the scent of the consulting detective? Days? Months? Years, even? Or had it been only seconds, or minutes? He had no idea. Sherlock hadn't texted him back. Maybe he was actually sleeping, or eating.

Or maybe he was dead.

*

John did a double-take. Yes, he really had set out two mugs of tea on the table. He had made one for Sherlock, too, out of habit.

I made you some tea. You'll come drink it, won't you? JW

He didn't want to start drinking without Sherlock. So he waited.

Eventually he became too thirsty, and drank the by-then-cold tea anyway.


	3. Chapter 3

A little boy came to see him that day. Not to see HIM, of course. To see the doctor. Nobody came to see John anymore.

This little boy was adorable. He had dark curls that somehow seemed to shine. He had clear, bright eyes that looked deep in to John's soul. He was tall for his age.

He looked just like Sherlock.

John had the name on his tongue the whole time. It must have slipped out, because he heard the boy whispering, "Who's Sherlock?" To his mother.

He had told himself he wouldn't do this anymore. After that first painful three days (as it turned out,) he hadn't texted Sherlock once. But his heart hurt, longing to talk to the one person who was forever beyond his reach.

I met someone beautiful today. JW

Sherlock would have instantly hated this beautiful person, whoever it was. He would have done anything to ruin their relationship with John. Sherlock always did. And, to be perfectly honest, John had never tried all that hard to stop him.

He wouldn't have cared that the beautiful person was a child.

Would he have cared that John only though he was beautiful because he looked like Sherlock? It was too bad his friend didn't have any interest in dating; he could have gotten any woman he wanted. He really was attractive.

Maybe if John could make Sherlock believe he was in a relationship, maybe if he could make Sherlock want to ruin this relationship enough, he would come home.

Maybe he should stop wishing for the dead to come back to life.

*

In the end, he couldn't help himself. He lasted almost a week before texting Sherlock (Sherlock's phone?) again. But when the boy who looked like him came back for a follow-up, John broke down all over again. He decided to try and make Sherlock jealous, see if that would bring the world's only consulting detective back to him.

Their hair smells amazing. JW

John closed his eyes and leaned back at his desk. He imagined how his lover's hair might smell. Like shampoo, the expensive kind, but something else too.

He sat up with a jolt.

He hadn't been imagining a woman's smell. That smell had been Sherlock.

Their skin is so pale, it gleams. JW

John needed his best friend back. He was going crazy.


	4. Chapter 4

Still no word from Sherlock.

John's "relationship" would have to get more serious if there was any to come. Sherlock wouldn't come back from the dead for just any fling.

I really like them, Sherlock. JW

He couldn't rush it, though. Sherlock would have to believe that John was really falling in love. This wasn't a play, it wasn't Romeo and Juliet. People didn't really fall in love at first sight.

Their hand is so warm. JW

That would set Sherlock off. John Watson, actually holding someone's hand. Not trying to get off with them, trying to get close to them.

This really was a genius plan.

*

This really was a terrible plan.

Sherlock was dead. Sherlock had always been dead, and he always would be dead. Even if he wasn't, he wouldn't care if John was falling in love. Why would he?

Even you would like them. JW

John put his phone down on the kitchen table. He hadn't been able to leave 221b. If Sherlock ever came back, and this wasn't where John was, he feared Sherlock wouldn't be able to find him.

That would be a fate worse than death.

He picked his phone back up.

They're smart, too. Very smart. JW

John needed Sherlock, plain and simple. He couldn't continue like this, moping about all the time. It wasn't healthy. He would know. He was a doctor.

He restrained himself from sending another message. Natural, it had to seem natural.

He waited two days.

It doesn't seen right, Sherlock, for my significant other not to meet my best friend. JW

Why had he said "significant other?" Just "girlfriend" would have sufficed. Maybe significant other sounded more serious.

That was what John told himself.


	5. Chapter 5

Not another text was sent for a month. It was as long as John could bear. Hopefully, Sherlock would think that John was too rapped up in his new girlfriend to text his dead flat mate. Even though said dead flat mate was also his best friend.

Even though said dead flat mate meant all the world and more to him.

I think I'm going to ask them to marry me. JW

If this text didn't bring Sherlock back, nothing would.

John gave it an hour before Sherlock burst through his door.

*

An hour later, Sherlock had not burst through his door.

There was one last thing John could try. Within a week, he would be engaged. As far as Sherlock Holmes knew.

I'm going to pick out a ring tomorrow. JW

Three days later would be an appropriate time, John decided. He was officially unofficially engaged. To put himself in the right mindset, John imagined himself taking out a woman for lunch.

They got a private room.

The woman didn't have a face. John couldn't imagine what a woman that he would be involved with would look like.

They talked and laughed the whole time. Then John got down on one knee, and produced from the folds of his jacket a tiny black velvet box.

She said yes.

She had a very low voice, for a woman. John wondered why that was.

He imagined himself taking his bride-to-be around, telling everyone they knew the happy news.

So happy.

Only when he got home would he text Sherlock.

She said yes. JW

*

The disappointment was crushing him.

Not even the prospect of the doctor getting married was enough to bring Sherlock back.

Maybe Sherlock really hadn't cared about any of John's relationships.

Maybe he had moved on.

Maybe he has died.

John had to face the facts. Sherlock was dead. He wasn't ever coming back, no matter how much John wanted him to.

I want you to be there. JW

His last desperate attempt. He silently pleaded with whatever deity was up there that Sherlock would come home. If only Sherlock would come home, John would do anything.

He tried to relax, but he couldn't keep his foot from tapping in anticipation. His gaze was locked on the door, waiting for a tall man with a dark head of hair to barge through it.

The door stayed shut.


	6. Chapter 6

I think I understand now. You aren't ever coming back. JW

Sherlock was dead. Why wasn't John? It wasn't as though he had anything to live for. 

Why hadn't the pain killed him?

God, why did this hurt so badly? He hadn't even known Sherlock that long.

A sudden thought struck him cold.

John scrolled through all the messages he had sent Sherlock since The Fall. the words he used in reference to his alleged fiancée caught his eye. Their. Their. Them. Their. Them. They're. Them. They. Not once had John said "She."

Then there was the matter of the imagined lunch. Had he not been able to imagine the woman he would be with, or had he not been able to imagine himself with a woman?

He supposed that would explain the "significant other" as opposed to "girlfriend."

Oh, shit.

John Hamish Watson was in love with a man, and a dead man at that.

He thought about the aforementioned dead man. His scent, the scent John had thought of when he tried to imagine a girlfriend. His pale skin, "so pale, it gleams." He had been describing Sherlock even then.

Those dark curls. Those glossy dark curls. John's fingertips tingled at the thought of running his hands through them.

Now that he had realized, the ache in John's chest burned so badly that he couldn't breathe.

His eyes flickered to the stairs. No. He couldn't. Could he?

Legs moving as if by their own accord, John gravitated up to his room. He sat on the bed, and stated at his desk. At one drawer in particular. He knew the contents exactly.

His old service revolver.

*

"Suicide is not the answer," he told himself. Trouble was, he didn't believe it.

Sherlock was dead. He wanted to be, too.

Goodbye, Sherlock. JW

John stood up, and crossed the room. After retrieving the gun, he sat back down again.

He turned it over and over in his hands. I want to die. Turn. Suicide is bad. Turn. I want to die. Turn. Suicide is bad. Turn.

I want to die.

Turn.

Was there an afterlife? If so, maybe he would see Sherlock there. If not, he wouldn't have to not see Sherlock here.

He hoped to god that there was.

Not goodbye. Hello again. JW

With that, John pressed the gun to his temple.


	7. Chapter 7

Sherlock felt horrible.

Mycroft had given him access to the security cameras installed in 221b. He sat staring at his laptop for three days straight.

Suddenly, John sat up. He pulled a mobile phone out of his pocket, and pushed the buttons rapidly. Sherlock's own mobile dinged.

Where did you go, Sherlock? JW

Sherlock wanted to reply more than anything, but he couldn't. John would die if he did. If Sherlock gave any sign to anyone other than Mycroft that he was alive, Moran would stop John from being so any longer.

Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade, too.

But John.

He couldn't lose John.

I'm bored. JW

Sherlock gave a sad little smile. John had learned a lot from Sherlock, using his own words against him.

I miss you. JW

The sad smile turned to a sad frown. Sherlock missed John too.

Please come home. JW

Oh, how he wanted to. But John was his home. Home is wherever the heart is, and Moriarty had been right. John was Sherlock's heart. 221b wouldn't be home to him anymore if his return there was at the expense of John's life.

The little John on screen rubbed his eyes, got up, and went in to the kitchen. He made tea, and got out two mugs.

Two.

Poor John. He didn't realize until he had poured the tea and set it on the table. He stared at it wide-eyed for a moment. Then he pulled out his phone again.

I made you some tea. You'll come drink it, won't you? JW

"I would if I could, John."


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's where it starts getting different! Enjoy!

Those were the only texts Sherlock received for a while. John had been restraining himself, because texting a dead man was definitely crazy.

Was a dead man stalking his live best friend crazy, too? Maybe he should quit watching the cameras.

John would probably say something about how it was "a bit not good" if he had known.

Sherlock didn't want to do anything John wouldn't like. If he was ever able to go back to John, he wanted to be the best friend he deserved. He would eat, and sleep, if only he could go back home.

Home to John.

I met someone beautiful today. JW

... What? Not too long ago, John had been too depressed to move. Now he was moving on?

This wasn't possible.

Sherlock's fingers inched towards his laptop. No. He had to stop himself. For John. He wouldn't be able to live if the look on John's face when he finally came back was not elation, but disappointment.

If that happened, Sherlock would die for real.

He could take anger. Anger was normal, good even. It meant John cared. But disappointment, the look in John's eyes saying "You're not who I thought you were. We can't be friends any more," that would kill him.

So the laptop stayed shut.

*

Sherlock had to wait almost a week before he got another text message from John.

When it arrived, the message was not at all satisfactory. No, it was infuriating.

Their hair smells amazing. JW

First John met someone beautiful, and now he was sniffing her hair? Sherlock was disgusted.

"The only person's hair John should be sniffing is MINE!" He snarled.

Wait a second. What had he just said?

Didn't matter. Sherlock needed a distraction, and fast. John's silly relationships had always made him mad. He didn't know why. They just did.

Their skin is so pale, it gleams. JW

Sherlock swiped everything off of the hotel's table.


	9. Chapter 9

John wasn't serious, was he?

His best friend had just recently died. How could he be happy enough to find a girlfriend? If John had died, Sherlock wouldn't even have been able to eat or sleep, much less find a girlfriend.

Not that he did those things much anyway.

I really like them, Sherlock. JW

Sherlock glowered. This woman had weaseled her way in to John's heart. HIS John's heart.

Their hand is so warm. JW

If anyone happened to glance in to Sherlock's window, they would surely call the police. Sherlock was absolutely murderous. Some stupid bitch was holding John's hand.

"The only person holding John's hand should be ME!"

Sherlock Holmes, the world's only consulting detective, was going batshit crazy. Absolutely stark-raving mad.

Even you would like them. JW

"No, I most certainly would not!" If this woman, whoever she was, thought she could steal HIS John, she had another thing coming.

But John was happy.

How could Sherlock take something away that made him happy? Sherlock had left him in a black depression, and she had brought colour back in to his life. Could Sherlock really take that away?

They're smart, too. Very smart. JW

Sherlock wasn't angry any more. Just sad. He couldn't make John happy. He had to leave it to someone else.

She should be thanked, really.

*

It doesn't seen right, Sherlock, for my significant other not to meet my best friend. JW

"Significant other?!!" Not girlfriend?!! Sherlock had waited two days for this?!!

Fucking Christ.


	10. Chapter 10

The following month was utter agony for Sherlock. Every time his phone chimed with a message from Mycroft, Sherlock dove for it, hoping it would be John.

It never was.

Stupid bloody Mycroft. Why couldn't he just leave Sherlock alone? He was perfectly fine.

I think I'm going to ask them to marry me. JW

Sherlock was not perfectly fine.

He wanted nothing more than to stomp right down to Baker Street and demand an explanation. John owed him one.

But Sherlock owed it to himself to keep John alive.

Why must John torment him so? This girl, this girl John hadn't even known two months was now more important than Sherlock?

I'm going to pick out a ring tomorrow. JW

A ring. He was getting her a ring. Why? Sentiment, Sherlock supposed. John was being sentimental.

Sherlock had never understood sentiment. The prospect of getting a ring seemed worn and overused.

He thought about it for three days.

His John was getting a mysterious girl a ring. It was the first time Sherlock had ever been loathe to solve a mystery.

Sentiment.

Sentiment was stupid.

Why wasn't John sentimental towards Sherlock? It was frustrating. John had know this girl les than two months, and he was getting her a ring. Sherlock was his best friend.

The fact that John had been willing to kill for him after a day completely slipped Sherlock's mind.

*

Sherlock had been on edge the entire time, waiting to see what she said.

"Please say no, please say no, please say no," he whispered as his eyes slid closed.

They said yes. JW

The world was crumbling around him.

This couldn't be happening. This couldn't be happening. This COULD NOT be happening. John would call it off, wouldn't he? He wouldn't be able to go through with marriage, Sherlock was sure of it.

But what if he did?

Death. Sherlock would not be able to continue on. John held Sherlock's life in his perfect hands, and he didn't even know it.

I want you to be there. JW

"I will sure as hell not be there!" Come to see his heart get broken? No, thanks.

He would sooner die than see John get broken.

Sherlock had done it once, he could do it again. Willingly. Readily.

John would not try to marry this girl, but if he did, Sherlock would not stand by and watch it happen.


	11. Chapter 11

I think I understand now. You aren't ever coming back. JW

Did that mean the texts would stop? Those messages were Sherlock's only motivation to live! The only thing that kept him from collapsing on the floor and crying himself to an early grave.

Why did it feel this way? Wouldn't a good best friend be happy for John? Sherlock must have been the worst best friend ever.

It wasn't that John was happy, Sherlock realized. It was that John was happy without HIM.

"The only person's hair John should be sniffing is MINE!" "The only person holding John's hand should be ME!" Words that had slipped out in heated anger, Sherlock had thought nothing of them.

What if they meant something?

John had been so easy to befriend. Sherlock never made friends. He couldn't stand people, and people couldn't stand him.

But John was different.

Sherlock's deductions hadn't been annoying, no, they were brilliant. Amazing. Sherlock's habit of playing the violin at odd hours of the morning didn't steal sleep from John, it gave him beautiful music. Sherlock's lack of social graces was, although embarrassing, endearing.

The first person to ever accept Sherlock for what he was. That was why Sherlock craved John's praise so much, not because it fed his massive ego.

Because of who it came from.

Sherlock had never been good at emotions. He preferred fixed things, things he could calculate. Calculations were easy. Feelings? Not so much.

There was a picture of John in his wallet. Sherlock would have much rather gone to his computer, where he had a whole arsenal of John photos, but he had to stay clean. So to speak. Not once had he checked up on John since he decided not to.

The picture had been taken by Mrs. Hudson on John's birthday. Sherlock had been in the picture too, but he had cut himself out of it.

John wore a stupid paper hat in the shape of a cone. It was red. He had tried to make Sherlock wear a blue one, but Sherlock had threatened to put more toes in the fridge until he stopped.

His best friend looked so happy. Sherlock had bought a bottle of expensive champaign for the occasion, and John's wide smile looked slightly drunk.

Sherlock traced his finger over John's mouth. Then he recoiled, because he had suddenly wondered what it would be like to kiss him.

The worst part was, Sherlock was sure that it would feel nice.

This was JOHN. Sherlock couldn't want to kiss JOHN.

But he did.

Cold, calculating, reasonable Sherlock Holmes had gone and fallen in love.

Not goodbye. Hello again. JW


	12. Chapter 12

Sherlock's blood chilled.

John knew. John knew? John knew. How did he figure it out?

"Hello again," John had said. He must have known that the consulting detective was alive. He must be coming to the hotel.

Shit, shit, SHIT!

He reached for his laptop. He needed to check on 221b, make sure John was still there. But, no, he couldn't. Sherlock could not disappoint John.

So he sat down on the couch, and waited.

*

He didn't have to wait long. Only an hour or so, but it seemed like an eternity.

Sherlock didn't mind the waiting, not really. What he truly minded was what happened when the waiting was over.

"John?"

There was a small cough. "Mycroft, actually."

Mycroft? Why had Sherlock's brother called him? He must have known that John knew.

"Sherlock... Why did you think that it was John calling you?"

Should he tell Mycroft about the texts? Sherlock supposed he should. Mycroft might be able to stop John from trying to contact him. "He sent me a text. Several, actually," he would, however, omit the part about John getting married. And how mad it made Sherlock. "The first one said he ha realized that I was dead, the second was goodbye, and the third... The third was hello."

"So you thought he knew you were alive, and your location?"

He answered in the affirmative.

Mycroft cleared his throat multiple times. "John did not know either of those things."

"Wait," Sherlock gasped, "What do you mean, 'did not?' "

*

Mrs. Hudson had to be forcibly removed from 221b Baker Street.

She had acted much the same way as John had for Sherlock, clinging to the dead man.

They took her down to Scotland Yard, and made her take a shower. The poor thing had been absolutely covered in John Watson's blood.

Everyone knew John had suicidal thoughts, but no one believed he'd actually DO it.

John had surprised them once again.

Greg Lestrade stared at the dark pool around his friend's head. He didn't need Sherlock Holmes to explain what had happened.

In a way, Sally Donovan had been right all that time ago. Back in the beginning. There they were, all crowding around a body, and Sherlock Holmes was the one who put it there.

Just not in the way they expected.

He didn't need Sherlock to explain what had happened, but he did need Sherlock. More than ever.

If Sherlock had been there, this never would have happened.

There was an impatient knock at the door. No, not just impatient. Demanding. Worried.

Scared.

Greg opened the door, and the very man he'd wished to see stood in front of him.

Sherlock Holmes stumbled back, his jaw aching from the punch.

"He's dead, Sherlock."

"I know."

Sherlock crouched down by the body, which he refused to think of as John. The normally fine and sandy hair was dark and matted with blood.

The hole on the right side of John's head threatened to swallow Sherlock up. No. No. No, no, no!

Someone had closed John's eyes. That was for the best, because if Sherlock had seen those clear blue eyes looking straight through him, he would surely have lost his composure.

John's skin was pale, paler even than his own. And he was cold.

Sherlock gathered John up in his arms. Greg moved to stop him, but thought better of it. There wasn't an investigation for him to hinder, not really. Besides, Greg wasn't really in the mood to be stabbed repeatedly with whatever sharp objects happened to be at Sherlock's disposal.

"I'm sorry, John, I'm so sorry. I was only trying to protect you," Sobbing now, unable to stop it, Sherlock pressed a kiss to John's cold, dead lips.

There was an audible gasp behind him, but he didn't care. All he cared about was John.

Was this how John had felt when Sherlock died? No, John didn't love him. Something close to this, though. Sherlock's chest felt like it was collapsing in on itself.

"He... He left a note," Greg was loathe to break Sherlock's stupor, but the envelope had specifically said 'Do NOT open, Greg,' and he really wanted to know the contents. Surely Sherlock would, too.

Sherlock turned his head to glare at the Detective Inspector. "Burn it."

"But-"

"Burn it."

Greg explained that Sherlock didn't understand, John wrote the letter to HIM.

Letting out an exasperated sigh, Sherlock held out a hand, the other still clutching John. "Give it to me."

'Sherlock,

I know you won't ever read this, but I'll write it anyway.

This is my note.

That's what people do, isn't it? Leave a note.

I've been miserable since you jumped. Why did you do that, anyway? But today, I realized something.

I love you. I know how you detest emotions, but I can't help it.

If you were really reading this, I suppose you'd be wondering what happened to my mystery woman. Well, she never existed. I was trying to get you to come home. You always did love to ruin my paltry relationships.

Not that I really minded.

My plan failed. You stayed dead. I'm still glad I did it, though. I never would have realized I love you if I hadn't.

Their. Their. Them. Their. Them. They're. Them. They. Not one single she, Sherlock. In my subconscious, I wasn't really talking about an imaginary woman. I was talking about you.

My life without you wasn't really a life at all. So I thought to myself, what about the afterlife? And here I am, writing a note to a dead man. It's not that odd, I suppose. I've been doing it all along.

Although, now I'm killing myself for this dead man.

Goodbye, Sherlock, but hello is not far off. I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you.

Love, John.'

This sweet man had been willing to blow his brains out for Sherlock. Not just willing, he had been happy to.

Sherlock could never come close to deserving it.

But he could pay John back, sort of. John would have forbade Sherlock to follow him. "One suicide is enough. Besides, you're alive. Stay that way, for me. Please," he would have said.

He would stay alive. For John.

I love you, too. I won't kill myself, but if there's any justice in the world, I'll be dead soon anyway.

I love you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there you have it, the alternate ending! If you joined the party here, you should totally check out the origional. Anyways, ciao for now! I love you all.
> 
> ~encyclopedianerdia.tumblr.com


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